


Millennium’s Children

by OrionLady



Series: Heartbeats [1]
Category: Stargate - All Media Types, Stargate SG-1
Genre: Codependency, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Epic Friendship, Friendship, Gen, Psychological Trauma, Secrets, Team as Family
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-15
Updated: 2019-10-15
Packaged: 2020-12-17 01:36:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,564
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21046163
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OrionLady/pseuds/OrionLady
Summary: Jack has just rescued Daniel from an uninhabited planet and all is well. Or is it? If Sam and the others don’t know something is very, very wrong—they do when Daniel and Jack disappear. Not even the best investigators in the world can find them.Set post season 10.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I almost didn't publish this series, as it's both based on a huge masterwork I outlined and then condensed into these three fics and because it's written around such personal moments from a real relationship.
> 
> But in the end, I want them to have a life of their own. So bon apetit!

Jack thinks it is in these moments that he hears best.

There is a crowd around him, going nuts, throwing their caps in the air and clapping him on the back. Daniel doesn’t say anything but Jack understands him best anyway, when the archaeologist looks at him like that.

They do not cheer. Just stand. Their eyes connect past the Air Force’s retirement celebrations and Daniel’s gaze softens at the edges.

Jack nods in response.

The world has always gone on without them.

“It’s almost over now, Danny.”

Jack can’t even hear himself say this over the noise, but Daniel bobs his head in that tired vehemence he wears now. Ducking yet another handshake, Jack takes Daniel’s sleeve.

They wander out of the grassy pavilion, into Jack’s truck. Nobody notices the exit of the man for whom they cheer.

“Where are we going?”

Jack shrugs. “Does it matter?”

Daniel rests his head on the glass with a long sigh. In the rear view mirror, Jack sees Carter’s worried face growing distant. He releases a sigh of his own, unbuttoning his blazer. The hand he runs down his face doesn’t stop there but lands in Daniel’s hair. He feels more than sees Daniel smile.

They drive until the sun hovers low. Then Jack parks.

Daniel sits up.

“Here?” he asks. “Why?”

“Come on.” Jack nudges his friend into motion. “Close your eyes. It’s a surprise.”

Daniel fists a hand in the back of Jack’s blazer and follows him up an absurd number of stairs. The archaeologist’s amount of trust thaws something frigid inside Jack’s mausoleum spirit.

Jack takes a deep breath and appreciates that Daniel ignores when it comes out like a sob.

And suddenly there is more noise, a _ton _of noise. This maelstrom is different. The crack of rawhide on wood, vendors yelling, feet thumping dirt.

“Alright,” says Jack. “Open ‘em.”

Daniel’s eyelashes—obnoxiously long—whisk upwards. Some cosmic law compels Jack’s breath to halt in his lungs at the open gaze, bluer than any man’s eyes have a right to be. It never ceases to leave him awed.

Daniel lets out a cry and jumps back.

Jack’s grip tightens around his bicep. “I gotcha. We O’Neills are better than any railing.”

Then Daniel laughs. Outright laughs.

Jack stares at him. This laugh is heady and free, sans cynicism, and Jack realizes it’s the first genuine sound of wonder Jack has heard from his friend in years.

His eyes tear up without his permission.

Daniel takes off his glasses and keeps laughing, so dizzy now that he has to sit down, against the billboard, where his feet are less than a foot from the edge. A fifty foot drop sits between them and the baseball field.

“This is great, Jack.”

Jack sits beside him and politely ignores how Daniel’s amazement has turned into real, painful tears that he hastily wipes away. He trembles a bit.

They huddle shoulder to shoulder. And Jack runs out of steam, resting his head back. The wood is cool against his spine.

“I like the openness,” says Jack in that quiet voice.

“Maybe we can stay here forever.”

“Possibly,” says Jack. “Everyone’s forgotten about this staircase and I’m the only one with a key now. I used to be the groundskeeper in college and just…never gave the keys back.”

Daniel’s eyes track an outfield ball. The crowd stands to its feet.

So high up, Jack and Daniel see stars meet the setting sun before anyone else. Jack doesn’t notice he’s synchronized to Daniel’s breathing until the linguist’s hitches. He is dry now, the faucet of his tears twisting off.

“Where are we?” Daniel asks suddenly.

Jack frowns. He briefly entertains the worry that Daniel’s concussion caused more damage than he thought.

Then he sees the positively ancient lines around Daniel’s eyes. Too old for a human life. A life that has been stuffed with too much and none of the things that actually matter.

“We’re on a rock spinning around other spinning rocks,” says Jack. “Don’t expect me to be an existential handbook after six.”

Daniel barks a laugh.

The batter makes it to third base. Another pitcher replaces the current one. The corn dog seller runs out of ketchup and Daniel scratches at a scar on his forehead.

“Funny,” he whispers, “I thought I was with you.”

Jack closes his eyes. His lips itch, twitching into a grin. “Only coordinates I need.”

Daniel’s hand wanders until it finds Jack’s face. He doesn’t look at Jack, just palms at his eyes and lips. Jack allows the tactile ritual, having woken to Daniel in his quarters on base enough times to know how much the man needs it.

Jack flutters his lashes in an ‘I’m real’ gesture.

Palm tickled, Daniel snatches his hand back with a hum of amusement.

Before Jack can talk himself out of it, he loops an arm around Daniel’s shoulder. Daniel is so much more physical now. Implicitly allowing Jack to show affection. Trusting each other in ways neither has come to grips with yet…but that feels more natural than breathing.

This is the longest either has gone without shaking or panicking in a bathroom somewhere. A whole four hours, at least. Jack counts it a victory.

“I see a shooting star,” says Daniel. “Make a wish.”

Jack doesn’t blink for a long time. “Got nothing to wish for.”

Daniel’s brow scrunches, as if he can’t decide whether this is a declaration of hopelessness or contentment.

Jack can’t decide either.


	2. Chapter 2

_Two Months Earlier..._

Nobody can quite put their finger on it.

The whole base knows something is off. Rippled by the shock wave of two men who come back different than they left. Jack, a general, isn’t supposed to go off world anymore in the first place.

Jack completed his solo mission, rescuing Daniel from an uninhabited planet he got stuck on. They walked through the puddle with nary a scratch. A little dehydrated, naturally. Daniel with a slight concussion.

But tying up their mission reports in neat little bows—the usual stuff of “I fell down a well, General” and “ancient ruins in a foreign language make for great reading when you’re waiting for rescue, General.”

The higher ups are pleased.

Those who know the friends, however, feel something in their world shift.

Daniel and Jack can’t be separated for more than a day or they spiral into confusion.

The first time it happens, Walter finds Daniel in a supply closet. Eyes dilated too wide, repeating his question of, “this time? Jack? Which is it now?”

Getting the call, Jack had _turned his plane around_, running down the hall and shaking like a leaf in a stiff headwind.

The image is burned behind Sam’s eyelids—

The general, coat tails flying, tie askew, jaw granite, and brow pulled low.

“Out of my way!” Jack shoves bystanders against the wall and puts track stars everywhere to shame. “Where is he? Danny?”

Mute, Sam points to the storage entrance beside her. Sweat teases off Jack’s brow. He stops short, however, at the sight of his best friend, eyes unfocused, huddled in the corner. Daniel’s hands shake where they hug his knees.

And every last inch of Jack softens.

It is such an abrupt, _moving_ thing that tears sting Sam’s eyes. Jack immediately lowers into a crouch. He clasps Walter’s shoulder.

“Thanks, Walter.”

Harriman nods, pausing his gentle reassurances to Daniel. “Anytime, sir. I don’t think he’s in the present yet.”

Jack’s eyes pool. “You have no idea.”

Walter steps back but doesn’t leave the closet. Neither does Sam. She shoos everyone else away.

When she turns back, Jack has crept forward with Daniel’s head under his palm. It looks to be the only touch Daniel will allow, taut as a bungee line.

“I’m here, Daniel,” Jack sooths in a caramel warm tone Sam has never heard from him before. Maybe one he used with his son. “Lookin’ for some paper, hmm? Bet all this cement and technology threw you off.”

Now that Sam has caught her breath, she too notices blocks of yellow paper strewn on the floor, clearly the reason Daniel came to office supply in the first place. She can picture it: Daniel with a box of paper in hand, dissociating, knees weak.

Jack’s face falls when Daniel’s ragged breathing speeds up.

The man’s eyes are glazed, pained. “Jack?”

“Still right here.”

The linguist’s voice scales into something frantic. “Jack?”

Nearly vibrating with helplessness, Jack reaches forward and slips a hand onto Daniel’s cheek.

Maybe it is the familiar callouses or maybe it is a private gesture. Maybe the general’s hands are warm or the smell of cologne and sweat grounds Daniel.

Whatever it is, Daniel’s eyes snap onto Jack and don’t let go. “Jack. There you are. Oh…oh…”

Jack’s breathing hitches. “Danny,” he breathes. 

The general’s arms envelope Daniel like floodwaters, cradling the man to his chest. He rocks faintly.

Daniel doesn’t fight the fierce hold but he doesn’t cling back either, body boneless and weak. His nose does find its way to the left crook of Jack’s neck.

Walter nods, and Sam envies that he understands something she doesn’t.

“The SGC,” says Jack. “You’re here. I’m here.”

“Four digits today?”

Walter bows his head at this. Jack’s throat works. Sam hasn’t felt this confused since astrophysics in first year.

“Yeah,” Jack finally says. “We made it home.”

Daniel blinks at last, after what feels like eons of blank staring.

Walter leaves and comes back with a blanket, which he wraps around both men. Jack doesn’t notice, face buried as it is in the side of Daniel’s hair. He whispers in what Sam belatedly recognizes as Norse. Not a language he knew before he went on this mission.

Jack has refused to return to Washington since. Rumours spread that he might give up his job.

At the very least, he requests vacation time.

_Vacation time._ To stay at the mountain.

Even Teal’c is baffled.

They sleep in separate quarters, sure. All very kosher to the untrained eye.

At first, Sam listens for nightmares, for whatever glossed over trauma must have occurred. She even catches Jack going into Daniel’s room for a brief minute.

She pokes her head in and sees both men awake, sitting on the floor with their backs against the bed, eyes vacant.

Pale faced. Utterly silent.

That throws everyone off more than anything. The lack of sound. How Daniel and Jack have passed from fluid conversationalists to practically telepathic. How they communicate without being in the same room.

Once, Jack comes into the briefing room with a bandage before Daniel even realized he was bleeding. The back of his elbow, from some sculpture.

Landry and Cam look on in total, amazed silence while Jack cleans the wound and then exits with a salute and a lopsided grin.

Then comes the _ticking_.

Daniel sleeps with a loud analog clock next to his ear.

Only once Sam catches Daniel weeping, when someone steals the clock. Jack lambastes an asinine sergeant for that. Who is mysteriously unemployed the next day.

Each morning, Jack has to touch everything in his quarters until that haunted look in his eyes dissipates.

Yet their routines don’t change.

To the unfeeling supervisors, Daniel completes his duties with more efficiency than ever. Jack even does some pro bono work. Cameron, Sam, and Walter try to convince Landry one day that something is very, very wrong, but he doesn’t see it.

Daniel and Jack pass their psych evaluations with flying colours, with only a post-it note that both men are, “a little drained.”

Once, in a truly bizarre episode that everyone remembers and no one talks about, Daniel and Jack choose to have lunch in the cafeteria. Which isn’t so bizarre—

But their glaring match with the Lucky Charms is.

Each man has a bowl of the sugary cereal on his plate, no matter that it’s four in the afternoon, along with fudge and blue Jello. Sam wants to be concerned about their diet if she isn’t so happy that they’re finally eating.

She catches a snippet of their hushed conversation—

“I thought this would help,” Jack laments.

“Me too. I wanted it to ground us…”

Jack huffs. “Why do we miss mutton legs so much if they were rotten? Like, all the time.”

Daniel takes off his glasses to massage his nose. “All I know is the sugar feels…wrong.”

“Daniel?”

“Jack?”

Jack purses his lips. “Remember that Narnia book? The one where the kids grow up to become kings and queens and live to be over forty years old but then they suddenly come back and have to do elementary school all over again?”

Daniel hides his face in his hand. His eyes are red and very bright.

“No magic door for us this time,” he says, voice like a reed.

Sam goes cold then. These aren’t the same men.

Even if she doesn’t know what happened she knows that it changed them. Or…wore them down. Like she’s looking at elderly Daniel and Jack in their younger bodies.

Jack isn’t as fiery, doesn’t get riled up so easily.

Cam tries to rib Jack about his weak basketball arm. Jack just throws the man a sad smile and says, “you’ll understand someday. Thanks for pointing it out, though. I’ll work on that.”

Cam is too stunned for a comeback.

Daniel and Jack do enjoy being with people, though. Especially if someone is a little tipsy and starts a drinking song at lunch even though everyone is on duty.

When Sam sees how this comforts them, like some transcendent ritual, she buys a mammoth decanter of bourbon and keeps it in the staff lounge.

Sometimes Daniel sits with Teal’c and burns up old photographs. Teal’c, despite his concern, lets Daniel do so. Sometimes Daniel falls asleep on the floor and Jack, sweating, pounds on the door.

When Teal’c opens it, Jack immediately deflates upon seeing his friend. He sits next to Daniel and takes deep breaths.

Every time.

This goes on for a solid month.

It is small consolation, but Daniel is now somewhat pliable, no fight or fire left in him at all. He mutters over old texts and doesn’t fight Sam when she wraps her arms around him from behind, kissing his shoulder.

He just nods and says, “hello.”

So she tries to do it every day. To infuse life into the spirit that is stripped of all pride, good and bad.

Sam finds Daniel one morning in a startled Cameron’s quarters, conked out on the floor with a hand on the colonel’s wrist. On a pulse point.

Cam, eyes wet, covers the archaeologist in a blanket and pats his back. They leave him to sleep.

The sixth week, Landry approves Daniel’s first mission back.

Daniel makes it halfway up the ramp, all geared up, peppy as can be during the briefing. Cam and Teal’c laugh softly beside him at one of Vala’s wild stories.

And then Daniel stops at the event horizon.

He quietly asks Sam: “What year is it?”

Sam, eyes wide and darting from his shaking hands to Landry at the control window, gently squeezes his arm. “It’s the twenty first century, Daniel. You’re safe.”

Daniel thanks her with a warm nod, straight faced once more.

And then he turns on his heel. Walks away from a stunned SG-1 and doesn’t look back. Landry later agrees to his request of a desk job.

By the eighth week, Jack gives up pretense and asks for retirement. So, of course, the Air Force throws him a huge bash, complete with outdoor venue.

Sam drives over with him in the truck, just the two of them, though Jack often checks on Teal’c—well, Daniel—in the car behind them.

“Isn’t it amazing, Carter?”

Sam leans closer. “What is, sir?”

“Jack,” he corrects. “I’m not on duty anymore.”

Sam blinks. “Jack, then. What’s amazing?”

He smiles, really smiles. Full broad view of teeth and all. “That we find each other in this time and this place, out of the thousands of planets and time periods. Amazing! Absolutely unreal! And a lot of them suck, you know that?”

Sam, throat thick, has no reply.


	3. Chapter 3

_Present Day..._

“Colonel Carter? Postcard for you.”

Sam glances up from her microscope to see Walter in the doorway. “Thanks. Who’s it from?”

Walter flushes at the ears and holds out the card. “Our boys.”

Sam’s heart gives a fantasia flutter that misses several beats. She turns the thick cardstock over to see a photo of New Zealand.

It’s been Sharpie-d over to say, in Jack’s scrawl, ‘The End of The Earth.’

Her face warms. So does Walter’s.

She reads the note aloud. “‘On the billboard of Prescott Field you will find two suits. One is a terrible tuxedo—seriously, Daniel, it’s from the eighties—and a general’s dress blues. They are neatly folded and we fondly hope they’ll rot.’”

Sam pauses with a wet snort.

She continues, “‘A thousand years is too long for any man to live. Even if, to those at home, it is only a blink. We burned the ‘Time Scrambler’ device (this is why I never let Danny name things) before stepping through.

It took us a millennium, but we came home. We missed you all. As we will on this crazy, world hopping search.

If we have still more years to live, Daniel and I have to figure out how to do that. So drink a toast for two old gate hoppers and the peace we search for. Yours always, Daniel and Jack.’”

Sam can barely see now. When she looks around, her office is filled with Cam, Vala, Teal’c, Walter, Siler, and dozens of beloved colleagues. No one’s eyes are dry.

Cam shoulders his way to the front. He holds the decanter and four glasses. He, Sam, Vala, and Teal’c clink glasses.

“A millennium is a long time,” says Sam, processing this new truth.

Cam throws back another shot. “Here’s to many more.”

* * *

Eventually, the team finds notes in Daniel’s office detailing an ancient device that turned stargates into dimensional, chrono-morphing portals.

Sam puts Daniel’s sketches down and stares, unblinking, at a photograph hidden in the pile, of Jack and Daniel standing in front of the White House.

It is unfinished. The White House _isn’t built yet_.

Both men wear work suits, tipping their newsboy caps at the camera. They are stained with varnish.

Another of Daniel’s photos shows Jack waving at Daniel from the hull of a Viking ship. A very _new _Viking ship.

Another is them with David Livingston in a jungle.

Sam covers them up and inhales a ragged breath.

She wonders how many lifetimes the pair has lived, the device rendering them practically immortal until they found their correct time. How many battles fought. Friends lost. How many more faces they’d watched die.

No wonder they learned to depend on each other, Sam thinks.

SG-1, though missing its linguist, goes on as normal.

One morning—the clock says three am—Sam finally packs up to go home and sees a little box on her desk, bow and all.

“About time,” she whispers.

Inside is a bracelet from Morocco and two sets of initials she’d know anywhere. Cam, Vala, and Teal’c receive gifts of food and candles from Thailand.

Even Walter gets a motley collection of hats.

Every four months or so, the team receives a postcard. Daniel and Jack have dubbed themselves the “Best Friend Bellhops” because of all the strange jobs they end up doing. Jack routinely teases Daniel about a girl he dated in Paris.

It takes Sam a long ten months, too long, to deduce that the men are visiting every major world site they helped build.

She loses another week of sleep over that.

For three years, not even the best investigative organizations on the planet can track the two men’s whereabouts.

Nobody has seen either man since their disappearance at the party. They are completely off grid.

They live off of charity and, from what Sam understands of their kooky letters, Daniel’s charm.

Thanksgiving comes and goes. On Christmas Eve of the third year, Sam sees a familiar face at the door.

“Colonel Sheppard,” she greets.

The man waves a hand. “My vacation started yesterday. None of that ‘colonel’ crap.”

He holds a dirty card in his hand. And Sam melts, though she’s experienced this so many times.

“Is it…?”

John nods and holds the postcard out. “Asked me to deliver it personally. This one’s special.”

Sam’s hand flies to her chest. “You saw them?”

“No, no,” says John. “But they forwarded it to my place first, along with this photo.”

Teal’c arrives and joins the huddle. The postcard is from New York’s Natural History Museum. It’s got hieroglyphs in the background and Teal’c hums his approval.

Sam flips to the attached photo. Her breath catches.

It is a shot of Daniel from the back, hands in his pockets. He stands before a tall stone structure in the Egypt wing.

“Colonel Carter,” Teal’c begins, hushed, “is this not the location of the memory Daniel Jackson was forced to relive?”

“Yeah,” Sam whispers. “It is. Where his parents died.”

John sobers. A faint smile is visible on Daniel’s face, where it is turned slightly to the left.

“He found his peace after all,” says Sam.

Teal’c claps her shoulder. “Indeed.”

Sam sniffs at the postcard and frowns.

“Sam?” asks John, drawing the word out.

She purses her lips. “Why would a postcard be caked with dust and stained with scummy smelling water?”

John shrugs. “Maybe they dropped it in Central Park.”

Sam sniffs at it again. “In a fire?”

Teal’c takes the card. He brings it to his nose. “It smells of coals. A smoky, low burning flame.”

Sam straightens with a sharp breath and she has her coat on in record time. “I gotta go. Teal’c, I’ll call you later. And thanks, John. Merry Christmas!”

“And a happy New Year!” the colonel calls after Sam down the hall.

Sam flies into her car, trembling, and hits the gas. There has rarely been a moment she’s felt so flustered and hopeful and angry. She drives all afternoon.

By nightfall, she parks and trudges up a snowy gravel driveway.

Smoke curls from a chimney and she has to stop, hands on her knees, at the wave of relief. Her laugh puffs into the night.

Despite the temperature, a familiar silhouette barbecues on the cottage porch. Another sits in a chair, reading aloud. It takes Sam a moment to recognize the tight syllables of a Shakespearean speech.

And there they are.

Bundled in parkas, weary looking and utterly relaxed.

Jack’s hair is whiter and Daniel’s has grown out into unruly ripples at the base of his neck.

“You’ve been here this whole time!” Sam cries.

The two men whirl and stare at Sam like the pope himself beamed in from Mars.

Jack drops his burger tongs. Daniel barely keeps his grip around _Hamlet_.

Sam stomps up towards them. “What happened to traveling the world, searching for peace? Were the postcards fake too?”

“Oh no,” says Daniel. “We did travel. The first two years, at least. Hello, by the way.”

Sam has to sit down at this revelation. Her head eddies like a fresh dazzle of snow outside.

“Travelling soon felt too much like _that _experience. And we did find rest,” says Jack, arms spread. “As much as the world can offer two men who’ve lived a thousand time periods and planets.”

“It doesn’t take much more than red meat to make Jack happy,” Daniel says in a conspirator’s murmur.

Jack throws a bun at him.

“I suppose French wine suits you better,” says Jack. “Or perhaps some _escargot_.”

Daniel groans. “Please, not this again. My dating life has been beaten to death.”

“If by beaten you mean—”

“Okay.” Sam slaps her knees. “I’m still trying to process that you’ve been here all this time. Almost a year.”

Jack doesn’t reply, just hands her the plate of burgers and ushers her inside.

A blast of warm air hits her face from the hearth, the crackle of a fresh fire and candles—Daniel’s handiwork—strewn around the living room.

Jack comes back with a towel for Daniel’s frozen spikes of hair.

“I told you to wear a hat, Danny.”

“You also told me the burgers would take ‘just a minute,’” the linguist counters.

Jack rolls his eyes, hands scrubbing up and down his friend’s half curls, but softens when Daniel winces at sensation returning to his ears.

Sam is distracted by a lopsided fir Christmas tree in the corner. It’s barren except for a star wobbling at the top, cracked and glued. Jack bumps the tree on his way by and dodges to catch the decoration.

“A falling star,” Daniel teases with a chuckle. “Make a wish.”

Sam leans back into the sofa and closes her eyes. “I don’t have to. I just got it.”

When she wakes, Jack is asleep in the easy chair and Daniel’s feet are in her lap. It’s still dark out, but the snow has stopped. She hasn’t felt relaxed enough to fall asleep without pills for a long time.

“Are you alright?” Daniel’s hand flutters over her arm. “You were making sounds in your sleep.”

Sam stares at his anchoring hand, then takes in the silence, the lack of ticking, and Jack’s contented snores. No bags under either man’s eyes.

On the underside of Daniel’s left hand, ring finger, are seven symbols in a line, an address Sam recognizes instantly.

Now that she focuses on the general, she spies a ring around his heart where a floppy sweater slips down. Made up of the same symbols. Obviously tattoos both had gotten in their travels.

Something shifts in Sam’s spirit, staring at these living monuments of Sha’are and Skaara. Of a whole other identity both had lost, for good and ill.

Her lips twist, finally settling on a smile.

Sam pats Daniel’s hand. “We’re just fine.”

Teal’c drops by later at Sam’s text and the four eat burgers around their crooked tree.

If the Jaffa is surprised to see both men curled up on the sofa, looking old but totally at ease, he doesn’t show it. Nobody has any gifts for each other but they don’t care.

B-rate movies are watched, Danny’s baklava eaten, and stories swapped.

Daniel ends up with his head on Jack’s shoulder, dead to the world.

Jack, upon feeling the new weight, glances at his dear friend and something gapes open in his expression, eyes aching. Sam has only seen this expression once: when Jack bolted down the hall after turning his plane around for a distressed Daniel.

Sam listens to Teal’c doing dishes behind them in the galley kitchen, the clatter of a life they though they’d lost for good.

Her hand slips into Jack’s. He doesn’t look at her but squeezes back.

And just like that, they are whole. This family that time tried its best to separate.

“Jack?” Sam whispers.

This time, his eyes do swing to her. “Sam?”

She doesn’t even mean for it to happen, the slow meeting of her lips against Jack’s cheek. He reddens and Sam gives a solemn nod.

“You’re right. It really is amazing.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's not my favourite thing I've written for these two, but like I said, it was a huge saga I decided to condense into the precis of this series. I'll add the sequel later this week!

**Author's Note:**

> Written June/July 2016.


End file.
